


keep on rising till the sky knows your name

by hatrack



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Tinder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatrack/pseuds/hatrack
Summary: She’d been shocked, then delighted, when Hecate had popped up on her Tinder feed. She hadn’t even known if Hecate liked girls, and yet here she was: “Hecate, 21. Potions / History / Spell Theory. All I care about is coffee and my cat.”





	1. Chapter 1

It was not like Hecate Hardbroom to get distracted. Her ability to sit through a three-hour lecture without once halting her rapid note-taking—even when said lecture was on the complex geopolitical details of Renaissance-era witch hunts and the intersectional nature of the danger to hunted witches—was legendary among those competing for the university’s highest honors. Furthermore, if the class was not a lecture but a discussion seminar to which participation was essential, Hecate, though uncomfortable with speaking in front of or interacting with her peers, forced herself to always be prepared to contribute to the conversation. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anything to say, after all; merely a paralyzing fear of saying it. But such fears were silly. She took herself firmly in hand, and trained her eyes on the front. She listened. She focused. She did not allow herself to get distracted.

And yet. 

Pippa Pentangle was sitting one row in front of her, two seats to the left, and Hecate couldn’t stop staring at her. 

Today her blonde hair was in a high ponytail, which swayed back and forth when she moved her head. Some strands had escaped from the hairband and framed her face. Every few minutes she tucked them behind her ears, but they were too short to stay properly, so all the motion really served to do was emphasize the loveliness of her face, her eyes, her hands, her neck. Her hair looked so soft. 

It wasn’t like she’d never had class with Pippa before. Quite the opposite: Hecate distinctly recalled seeing Pippa’s trademark pink, as bright and electrifying as her smile, in quite a few lectures and labs; and recalled, also, deliberately not looking at her for too long. Pippa was, in Hecate’s opinion, probably the most beautiful girl in their year, if not the whole university. But this was the first time she’d ever had a chance to observe Pippa closely—her movements, her expressions. The way she crinkled her nose. The way she crossed her legs at the ankle under her chair. The curve of her shoulders, and hips, and breasts… 

Hecate jerked her eyes forward, hastily focusing on the professor, who was in the middle of devising a scenario in attempt to get the one slow wizard in their gender studies class (“The Liberated Witch: Femininity, Tradition and Equality in the Age of Empowerment”) to understand, well, the basic concept of institutional sexism. But he was asking stupid questions, and they were getting away from the material at hand, and she had a 99.8 percent in the class anyway. After a minute or two, leaning her chin on her hand, Hecate let her thoughts—and gaze—drift back to Pippa.

She was also clearly bored, watching the guy with narrowed eyes as he attempted to defend his position. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and she was nibbling on her lip in what Hecate recognized as frustration, her way of suppressing the urge to join the argument. Her cheeks were somewhat flushed, and her eyes were dark, and Hecate needed to stop looking at her mouth. Immediately.

Hecate looked down at her notebook and began writing, notes flowing automatically from the professor’s mouth through her pen, letting the information processing block her thoughts, at least for the moment. She reminded herself of Rule Number Three of Surviving This Class: “You May Only Look at Pippa When She is Speaking, and Then Only For a Normal Amount of Time. No Staring. For Goddess’ Sake, Hecate, Eyes on the Board.” 

Her ears perked up. She resisted the urge to swivel immediately in her seat. Better to casually turn her head, as if her stomach didn’t flip when she set eyes on Pippa. Pippa, who had apparently won the battle with her self-restraint, and was proceeding to decimate the guy’s argument so steadily that Hecate could see him shrinking in his seat. Whose eyes were lit up as she spoke, whose hands flew about as she looked around, whose ponytail flipped determinedly. One sleeve of her pink dress had slipped just slightly off her shoulder, letting her delicate collarbone peek out. 

It was going to be a very long term. 

 

At the end of class, Hecate packed her books hurriedly, as always, and began thinking about the essays she had due the upcoming week, and month. True, her witching history paper wasn’t due for five weeks, but it was fifteen pages and it didn’t hurt to get started early; perhaps she could do some research before going to the gym? 

There was a loud bang as a number of books and notebooks, balanced too precariously on her desk, hit the ground. Hecate flinched—more at the faces now turned to her than at the noise—and immediately dropped to the ground, gathering the impudent materials. It was possible she was carrying too much around. But she so often went to the library between classes, it was worth it to have everything she might need with her. Usually. Well, sometimes. 

“Here,” said a voice. Hecate stopped breathing for a moment. Then she looked up.

Pippa was on her knees beside her, holding out two books to her. She was looking directly into Hecate’s eyes, closer than arms’ length, and she was smiling. At Hecate. With that perfect mouth. 

Hecate took in a breath, and felt her face flood with color. 

“Um,” Hecate said. 

“You dropped something.” Pippa’s voice was amused, teasing in a friendly way, and sweet. 

Hecate finally managed to break eye contact. Shutting her eyes against the magnetic pull of Pippa’s beauty, ducking her head against the embarrassment, she took the books from Pippa and stood. 

“Yes. I—yes.” She replaced the last books in her bag and slung it over her shoulders, willing her face to cool down. 

“Do you always carry that many books?” Pippa was close to her again, standing next to Hecate’s desk. “That looks heavy.” 

Hecate’s feet were screaming at her to run. Every atom in her body was alight with panic. Pippa smelled like clean laundry and lavender, an intoxicating combination that was almost as paralyzing as her gaze. If Hecate could reach out and touch her—see if her hair was as soft as it looked—

“Mhm,” Hecate managed. Then she turned on her heel and walked out. 

 

When Pippa got home, she dumped her bag unceremoniously on her bed. She ate an apple, then a doughnut, standing at the kitchen counter flipping through Witch Weekly. And then she drew herself a bath. 

Baths were something of a ritual for Pippa. If she had the time, she liked to bathe every day, either at night or whenever she returned home. It soothed her, centered her, inspired her—and ensured that she always looked her best. Glowing smooth skin and a refreshing scent weren’t something one was born with, after all. 

She filled the tub up without checking the water’s temperature; the spells for ensuring the perfect bath had long been in place. Opening her cabinet, she surveyed her bubble options. Today she was in the mood for a cool, earthy smell, so she lifted out a small bottle with Petrichor Essence and poured a spoonful into the tub. Immediately, the small bathroom filled with the scent of rain. 

Pippa lit candles, and carefully placed them around the edge of the tub. She made sure her novel, journal and vibrator were all within reach. Finally, she turned off the faucet, stripped, folded her clothes neatly on the counter, and stepped into the tub. Feeling the warmth seep into her, she settled back, head leaning against the porcelain edge, and sighed.

She had really thought Hecate might be interested in her. 

Truthfully, it had been a long shot from the beginning. She’d had a crush on Hecate since freshman year—since the first time she’d seen her, really. Then, it had just been about her sheer loveliness: the long dark French braid falling down her back, the strong jaw and quick hands, the slight jump of muscles Pippa was positive she could detect beneath Hecate’s perpetual long sleeves. Goddess, what she wouldn’t have done to see her in a tank top—one of those bro tanks with slits down the sides to show off her abs…

But the real kicker had come when she’d first heard Hecate speak. It didn’t happen often—Pippa thought maybe she was shy—and then whenever the professors spoke to her in a lab, Hecate’s voice was always too quiet for Pippa to make out.

On the first day of their gender studies seminar this year, however, when it came time for Hecate to introduce herself and say a little about why she was in the class, she had spoken at some length. She talked about her traditional upbringing and the transition to a more modern university setting, her concerns about performing femininity while maintaining a healthy body image, her uncertainty, in short, about what kind of witch or woman she wanted to be. 

When Hecate finished, having spoken longer than even she had expected herself to, she immediately ducked her head and flushed a deep crimson that spread from her cheekbones down into her turtleneck—and, just like that, Pippa was smitten. 

Not being the shy and retiring type, Pippa resolved to approach her. But Hecate proved elusive in the extreme. As soon as class ended, she disappeared; where to, Pippa couldn’t figure out. She had even walked around the library once, pretending she was looking for a book, just to see if Hecate was there studying; but to no avail. And Hecate wasn’t on any social media, either—or so Pippa had thought. 

She’d been shocked, then delighted, when Hecate had popped up on her Tinder feed. She hadn’t even known if Hecate liked girls, and yet here she was: “Hecate, 21. Potions / History / Spell Theory. All I care about is coffee and my cat.” The first photo was of her looking directly out at the camera, long hair falling in waves around her face, dark eyes—dare Pippa say it?— _smoldering._

She’d flipped through the photos first quickly, then slowly, then obsessively. There was one of Hecate lying on her back with her cat on her chest, nose to nose and staring into each other’s eyes. Pippa could almost detect a smile tugging at the corner of Hecate’s mouth. In the next one, clearly a candid, that same half-smile danced on Hecate’s face as she glared playfully at someone out of the frame. 

But it was the last photo that compelled Pippa to abandon her pride and super-like Hecate’s profile on the spot. The exact image she’d spent months—no, _years_ —picturing: another candid, taken from behind, of Hecate doing a pull-up in a tank top. Pippa could actually see the muscles in her back, shoulders and arms rippling, and they kind of made her want to cry. Or grab her vibrator. 

A door slammed. “Pippa?” called a voice. “Are you home?”

“I’m taking a bath,” Pippa called back. 

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, just take off your shoes first.” Pippa had a strict no-dirt policy in her bathroom, and her roommate Julie’s shoes, by virtue of her working part-time in the greenhouses, were constantly covered in mud. It was the only source of contention in their otherwise peaceful apartment. 

There were two thuds from the hallway, then the door opened. Julie came in carrying her purse and a sandwich, and shut the door with her hip. She sat down on the closed toilet seat and took a bite of her sandwich. 

“So,” she said around the mouthful. “Updates?” 

Pippa sighed deeply and sank down in the bath till her chin was just above the water. 

“I don’t think she’s interested,” Pippa said to the suds. 

“What?” Julie sat up straighter. “Impossible.” 

“One might think. But no.”

“Why do you think she isn’t interested? Of course she’s interested.” 

“Because—at the end of class, when we were starting to leave, she dropped some books and I picked them up for her. And I kind of tried to make conversation, but she just stared at me like I was an alien or something. And then she literally ran away.” 

Pippa could feel Julie staring at her, but refused to make eye contact. It was a little embarrassing, how sad she felt. 

“When you say literally…” Julie started. 

“I mean, I said something to her, and she literally turned around and, like, speed-walked away.”

“Maybe she had to be somewhere?” Julie tried. 

Pippa didn’t respond. 

Julie sighed, and scooted forward so that she was sitting on the edge of the seat. “Listen. She liked you back on Tinder. That’s not nothing. Maybe she’s just shy?” 

“She hasn’t texted me back, either. And it’s been like a whole day.” Pippa was aware that her voice had taken on a whining edge, but she didn’t care. This was her bath time, damn it. 

“What did you send her?” 

Pippa nodded to her phone, which was on top of her clothes on the counter. Julie quickly tapped in the password and opened the app. 

_hi!_ Pippa had written. _you’re in my gender studies class, right? you have the most beautiful hair (not to sound creepy or anything, just sometimes i sit behind you and I can’t stop staring lol)_

She’d been going for casual. Breezy. Familiar but not presumptive. Complimentary but not stalkerish. Like it didn’t matter too much, she was just saying hi. 

“It’s a good message,” Julie said. 

“I know.” 

They sat in what Pippa considered a mournful silence for a few moments. 

“I just,” Pippa said. She swallowed. “It’s not just that she’s pretty, you know? She’s, like… _really_ smart. She’s as smart as I am—maybe smarter, who knows.” 

“I doubt that.” 

Pippa smiled. “Thanks. But—whatever, I was just…really excited about the idea of dating someone who could actually keep up with me. Normally people either can’t follow what I’m talking about, or they’re scared or, like, sort of threatened by me being ambitious.” 

She had known from quite a young age that she wanted to have her own school, and the dream only strengthened as she grew up and gained confidence. She was one of the brightest witches of her age. She got along with everyone. She knew she could be an excellent headmistress—and if she started off just good, she would only get better. 

But whenever she brought this up with boyfriends or girlfriends, they’d say things like, _Are you sure?_ Or, _Doesn’t that sound hard?_ Or, _How do you know you can do it?_

The last one was her least favorite. Constructive criticism she could take. But Pippa believed in herself as much as she believed in the Witches’ Code, as much as she believed in magic itself; and she needed someone who would do the same. 

“I could see myself telling her about it,” Pippa said. “About Pentangle’s Academy, I mean. And I felt like—I could see her asking all the right questions. Asking what my ideas are for curriculum, for example. And what kind of garden I’d cultivate. She’s smart enough to be able to challenge me, and I think—” 

Pippa swallowed again. “I think she would’ve been good. For me.” 

“Oh, Pip.” 

“Yeah.” 

There was another mournful silence.

“Hey,” Julie said gently. “I’m going to heat up some soup. When you’re done with your bath, do you want some? We can watch something trashy.” 

Pippa considered. “Can we have wine with our soup?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes.” 

 

It was dark when Hecate finally left the gym. She’d been there longer than usual, which wasn’t necessarily healthy, but she couldn’t help it. How could she have acted so stupidly in front of Pippa? Why couldn’t she carry on a simple conversation like a normal person? Every time she remembered her final response to Pippa—not even a word, just a sound—she was mortified. This was why she didn’t talk to people other than Ada. She was just not made for human interaction. 

So Hecate ran on the treadmill until she was sore and panting, the memory of Pippa’s amused face _(Goddess, she must think I’m an idiot, why did it have to be Pippa)_ following behind her. She did pushups and pullups and crunches until she was sweaty and red _(why are you like this, why do you react like this, why can’t you control your feelings?)_ She worked out, revisiting exercises and machines and weights, until she was exhausted. It was the only way to release the nervous tension in her body, to get rid of the panic that threatened to overwhelm her when she thought of Pippa, of Pippa thinking of her, thinking her ridiculous. Goddess. She couldn’t bear it. 

After a few hours, her anxiety had dissipated enough for her to go home. The cool air felt good on her skin as she biked, and by the time she reached her apartment, she was almost calm. Her feelings for Pippa were a problem, yes, and humiliating herself like that in front of Pippa was the stuff of her nightmares. But on the other hand, Pippa would likely never speak to her again; and while a small part of her was devastated at the idea, the rest of her knew it was for the best. Perhaps now that she officially had no chance with Pippa, she would finally be able to get over her. 

Unlikely. But possible. 

 

Hecate had showered, dressed and begun making dinner by the time her roommate came home. Shrugging her backpack off, Ada put the stack of folders she was holding down on the table and came over to give Hecate a side-hug by the stove. 

“Hey,” Ada said, smiling up at her. “How was your day?”

Hecate cleared her throat. “Fine. You?”

“Fine. Dimity’s organizing a potluck for Saturday. You wanna come?” 

“Not particularly.”

“It’s a small thing. No one you don’t know.” 

“I don’t like most of the people I know.” 

“Dimity said there would be board games. You could probably convince me to play Scrabble.” 

Hecate raised her eyebrows. “You never need to be convinced to play Scrabble. And you beat me half the time, anyway. What do you really want?”

Ada did her best puppy-dog eyes. “I may have promised Dimity that you’d make something.” 

“Come on.” 

“You’re the best cook out of all of us, it’s hardly fair if you don’t.” 

Hecate rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you have to buy me more vodka. You ‘may have’ finished my bottle.” 

“Deal.” 

Shaking her head, Hecate returned to her stir fry. Ada watched her for a few moments. Then she took a deep breath. 

“Hecate?”

“What.” 

“I need to tell you something.”

Hecate looked at her, still stirring. “What’s up?”

Ada took another breath. “I made you a Tinder.”

“You…” Hecate was motionless, mouth slightly open, staring wide-eyed at Ada. 

“And someone messaged you—a girl. She thinks you have pretty hair. Which you do, so.”

Hecate was still staring at her. Ada couldn’t identify all the emotions flickering in her eyes, but she was pretty sure the dominant one was panic. 

“Please say something,” Ada said quietly, stepping closer to her. “Are you mad?”

“I—you—” But Hecate couldn’t say anything else. Ada could hear her struggling to control her breathing. She took the spoon out of Hecate’s hand, and turned the stove off. She scooped the vegetables onto the waiting plate, grabbed a fork and offered it to Hecate, who took it mutely. Then Ada guided Hecate to the table, and sat across from her. 

“I can’t,” Hecate said, after a few minutes. 

“You can’t what?” Ada asked. 

“I can’t—talk to this girl. Whoever she is,” Hecate said, eyes on her plate. 

“I’m not asking you to talk to her,” Ada said gently. “I just wanted to give you the option.” 

Hecate looked at her, mouth set. As usual, only her eyes betrayed that she was anything other than calm. 

Ada sighed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to push you, or anything. I was just thinking of…do you remember that Saturday like three weeks ago? When we got drunk on tequila and went to the roof to look at the stars?”

“Yeah.” 

“Do you remember what we talked about?”

A pause. “Not…particularly, no.”

“You were talking about girls,” Ada said. “About—wanting girls. Liking girls, and wanting to date them, but not knowing how. And about,” she pushed on, even as Hecate’s lips trembled, “being angry at yourself for wanting that, and being angry at yourself for being angry, and how you were worried that you’d never be able to have that. Love, I mean.” 

Hecate stared down at her plate. Ada pulled her chair around so that she was sitting next to Hecate, so that she could wrap an arm around her shoulders. Hecate sniffed once, twice, and Ada knew she was crying. 

“You don’t have to talk to this girl. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, or aren’t comfortable with. I’ll delete the account, if you like,” Ada said quietly. “But I want you to know that—it’s okay for you to like girls, and it’s okay for you to want to date them. And you can date them, if you want. They’re there.” She wasn’t sure if it would be helpful or frightening, but she couldn’t help adding, “And they like you. A lot of girls have liked your profile. Like…a _lot._ ” 

Hecate leaned into her shoulder. 

“Just think about it,” Ada said. “Okay?” 

Ada heard Hecate swallow. Then she nodded, and Ada couldn’t help smiling. 

“Okay,” Ada said. “Do you want to watch ‘The Great British Baking Show’?” 

Hecate nodded again. The she scrubbed quickly at her eyes with her hands, sat up straight, and started eating. 

Overall, Ada thought, she would consider it a victory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the comments--i appreciate them so deeply. this story is fully planned out and will be finished as soon as i can manage; i started school again and barely have time to think, but writing this makes me very happy, so rest assured that i am working on it.

Pippa entered her gender studies class in an uncharacteristically terrible mood. Generally speaking, she held an optimistic view of the world: things usually went her way, more or less, and when they didn’t, she chalked it up to experience and grabbed a bath bomb. But this week was proving to be unusually busy, which meant that she stayed up too late, didn’t sleep enough and turned in subpar work; she was stressed about applications for summer positions, whose deadlines were approaching far too quickly; and getting over Hecate’s rejection was proving more difficult than she had expected.

It made sense, in some ways—she’d been attracted to Hecate for so long that she’d built up a whole world of daydreams around what it would be like to date her. Pippa would never in a million years have guessed that Hecate was queer, or that Pippa would have an opportunity to approach her, so it had seemed like a safe fantasy: something to think about during a boring class, or to get off to at night. There was no chance of it becoming reality, so there was no possibility that she would get hurt. Until she saw Hecate’s Tinder. 

_Well, and now you know,_ Pippa thought, deliberately keeping her focus fuzzy as she moved to a seat in the front. She knew a black-clad figure was already sitting in her usual seat in the back, and wanted to avoid looking directly at her, now or for the rest of class. Possibly ever. 

Her phone buzzed. From Julie: _How was your date?_

Pippa silenced the phone and dropped it into her backpack without responding. The coffee date she’d been on that morning had been—well, fine. Mediocre for sure, but not actively bad. She might even have called it decent, under different circumstances, and the girl had already texted her about setting up another date. She was cute, and smart, and sweet, so Pippa would probably say yes. 

But she wasn’t Hecate. 

And Pippa _knew_ she was being melodramatic, she knew it even without Julie’s raised eyebrows and gentle if pitying tones, but damn it, she was entitled to her feelings. And she felt, melodramatic though it was, a genuine grief for her favorite daydream. The loss of hope—for Hecate, for herself, for a satisfying love life—was hard to bear. 

The professor stood, shutting the door with a wave of her hand. Pippa opened her notebook and began to write, attempting to let the rhythm of the professor’s voice soothe her. 

 

It had been two days since the Pippa Incident, and Hecate, while not quite calm—never really calm, if she was honest with herself—was feeling slightly less awful about the whole thing. Or at least, she managed to get all the way to class and settle in her usual chair before the shame crept back into her throat. 

But she had made it through two years of classes with Pippa Pentangle, and if she had more reason now than ever to feel vulnerable, well, she would manage. That was what eye makeup and boots and muscle were for, after all: making her feel invincible, even when she knew all too well that she wasn’t. 

Hecate flipped through her notes, trying to review the day’s readings before class started. She didn’t look up until the professor began speaking, and then she only glanced at the board. 

Despite her best efforts, though, she noticed three things. 

One: Pippa’s hair was long and loose over her shoulders. Images flashed through Hecate’s mind rapidly: what it would be like to brush hair off her face, braid it, tangle her fingers in it while kissing Pippa—no—

Two: Pippa wore a short, swishy pink skirt, and it slid up her thighs as she leaned forward in her chair. What it would be like to hold her hip, skim a hand up her leg, under her skirt, to— _no_ —

Three: Pippa wasn’t looking at her. 

Hecate couldn’t be sure of that, of course, especially as she herself was determinedly (mostly) not looking at Pippa. But it wasn’t like Pippa to face front the whole time, especially if she was sitting in the first row. Normally, she kept her eyes on whoever was speaking, twisting around in her chair to spot the people in the back. 

Today, however, Pippa looked at the professor, her notebook, and occasionally into space. She still spoke often, still seemed attentive, she just—wouldn’t look past the first row. And when Hecate spoke, as she forced herself to do at least once a class, she could’ve sworn she saw Pippa’s shoulders stiffen. 

Dread settled in Hecate’s stomach. 

Maybe Pippa really did hate her. 

She had assumed she was overreacting, as she usually did to anything and everything that went wrong. She had attempted to assure herself that while Pippa was a major figure in her mental life, she was no more than a blip on the radar, and so Pippa couldn’t harbor any emotion towards her beyond indifference. Evidently, she had been wrong. 

Hecate counted breaths, one two three four five, and tried to think. There were any number of reasons that Pippa might be behaving differently. Perhaps she had injured her back. Or was feeling tired. Or was angry with someone else in the class, someone else who wasn’t her, who couldn’t possibly be her. 

When class ended, Hecate stayed in her seat for a full two minutes longer than she usually did, gathering her breath, thoughts and things. As she packed up, she glanced up at the board to ensure that she’d written down the necessary homework information—and looked Pippa full in the face as she was coming down the aisle, pink backpack slung carelessly over a shoulder. 

Pippa looked back at her, indifferent. No smile, no eyes sparkling with amusement. Then she kept walking. 

Hecate watched her leave the class with something that felt horribly like inevitability prickling at her eyes.

Then she swallowed hard, and finished packing her things. 

 

On her way home, Pippa sent a flirty reply to the girl. Within minutes, they had another date scheduled for Friday. A dinner date. Which would probably include making out, and might include sex. That would cheer her up. Pippa was a really big fan of sex. 

Before she had even opened the apartment door fully, Julie was bugging her. 

“Sooooooo?” she called from the couch, where she lounged with her feet on the armrest. “How was it?”

Pippa headed straight for the kitchen. “Class? Fine.” 

“Your _date_.” 

“Also fine,” Pippa said, then corrected herself. “Good. We have another date Friday.”

Julie waggled her eyebrows. Pippa ignored her, and began making toast. 

“That’s great, Pip,” Julie said. There was a question in her voice. 

Pippa didn’t look at her. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.” 

 

Hecate went to the gym, but permitted herself to stay only as long as she usually did; only as long as was healthy. She’d been sore the day before—too sore, the sort of sore that led to pulling muscles. She had to be more careful. Ada told her that frequently. 

As she biked home, she felt a strange sense of purpose. Her mind was focused and clear. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of the feeling, but it had been crystallizing, settling into her bones, for a while now. 

It wasn’t until she saw Ada’s books spread out across their coffee table that she realized what she had decided—secretly and quietly, unconsciously, at some point during the day. 

Ada emerged from the kitchen, mug in hand, and smiled at her. “Hey,” she said. “How was your day?”

There was no chance of her ever dating Pippa. Hecate knew that. But that didn’t mean—necessarily—that she would be alone forever. 

“It was fine,” Hecate said, voice wavering only slightly. “You?”

She could try talking to people—to girls. It would be casual, low-key, without the immediacy of a girl standing in front of her, muddling Hecate’s mind with her beauty. And, if she felt so inclined, she could ask someone on a date. Maybe someone would ask her on a date. Who knew? 

“Good,” Ada said, and continued on, telling her about her spells class and their group projects, and the research she was conducting for potions, and how her education class—which she had thought might be dull—was actually extremely interesting. Hecate was listening. Mostly. 

Ada had said, before, that someone was interested in her. (Well—Hecate felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up her cheeks—that many people were interested in her). That someone had messaged her. As improbable as it was that the girl actually liked her, and would continue to like her after meeting her, and that she herself would like the girl as well…still. 

At the very least, she could find out. 

“You’re blushing,” Ada said, amused. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Hecate said, blushing more deeply at being caught out. “I was listening, I swear. I’m glad you like your education class, and your research sounds extremely interesting, and you should tell your partner that I’ll hex him if he doesn’t do his share of the work.” 

“Oh, I will,” Ada said. She leaned against the counter and smirked at Hecate. “If you tell me what you were thinking about just now.”

Hecate swallowed. She went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. While her back was turned, she began, “I, uh. Well. I was thinking.”

“Clearly.”

Hecate took a sip, then another. Then she put the glass down, still facing away from Ada. Eyes bright, heart in her throat, she asked, “Will you teach me to use Tinder?” 

An intake of breath from Ada. 

“Hecate, nothing—and I do mean nothing—would give me more joy.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, so.” Ada scooted forward and put her laptop on the table so that Hecate could see the screen. As she spoke, she continued tapping at the keys, pulling up the Tinder website. 

“I made you an account online, because obviously I couldn’t do it on your phone, but most people just use the app ‘cause it’s more convenient. So if you want, you can download the app and use it there. But I’ll show you what I’ve done so far.” 

Hecate nodded, afraid her voice would crack if she spoke. Ada looked at her and grinned. 

“You ready?”

Hecate cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yes.” 

“Okay,” Ada said. “Here’s how you do this.” 

On the screen, there was a photo of a young woman with golden-brown hair that curled at her shoulders reading in an armchair. Beneath the photo, it read, “Jen, 22. Kindergarten teacher & poetry lover. Likes long walks in the woods and discussing magical theory.”

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Ada said. “If you’re interested in talking to her, you hit this heart button or swipe right, and she’ll get a notification that you liked her profile. If you’re not, hit the x button or swipe left. If she likes you back, you’ll get a notification and you can message her.” 

“What about this?” Hecate pointed to a star button on the far right of the screen. 

Ada’s eyes twinkled. “That’s the super-like button. It’s kind of a big deal. Do you want to know how many people have super-liked you?” 

“Um.”

“Twelve.”

Hecate tried not to gape. “Wow. Um. Really?”

“Yup.” Ada watched her friend open and close her mouth for a few seconds before taking pity on her. “Do you want to give it a try?”

They spent a few minutes flipping through the profiles. Jen got a like, as did a few other pretty, intelligent-looking witches; every time Hecate swiped right, she ducked her head and flushed. They came across Agatha, with smoky eyes and red lips—Ada was secretly pleased that Hecate swiped left before she even had time to wince—and Dimity on a surfboard, abs and glowing eyes on full display. Hecate hesitated.

“The thing that’s nice about swiping right on friends is that you can pretend you did it just to say hello,” Ada said quietly. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

Hecate swallowed, and swiped right, eyes flickering up to meet hers for just a moment as if she was revealing a secret. Ada decided not to bring up that time Hecate had gotten tipsy at a solstice picnic, gathered roses from the woods and used one to trace down Dimity’s jaw and across her lips; or that that was the one and only time she’d ever seen Dimity speechless. She would save that information for later, if the occasion called for it. 

“Wait. What does my profile look like?” Hecate asked, drawing Ada out of her thoughts. 

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” This, of course, was a bare-faced lie; she just needed Hecate to get more comfortable with the app before she showed her the profile she made. After all, she hadn’t exactly consulted with her about some of those photos.

With a few clicks, she pulled it up. 

“All I care about is coffee and my cat,” Hecate read slowly, eyebrows pinched together. She stared at herself on the screen. Hecate was self-conscious at best, Ada thought, but even she had to admit that it was far from an embarrassing photo. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. When did you take this picture?” 

“Beginning of the year. You like it?”

“I…yeah. What are the other ones?”

Ada scrolled the photos slowly. There was the one of Morgana on Hecate’s chest, the one of Hecate glaring at someone at a party—Dimity, probably—and then—

“Ada!” 

“What?” 

“When—how— _why_ did you take this?” 

Hecate’s voice rose higher and higher with each word. Clearly, the photo of her doing a pull-up had been crossing a line, though Ada couldn’t imagine why. 

“Last year, when I came to pick you up from the gym and you weren’t ready yet.”

“So you decided to take _pictures_ of me? And put them on the _Internet_?”

“Girls want to see your muscles, Hecate.”

“But—” 

“Look at your shoulders. Goddess.” 

Hecate was silent. Ada finally risked a look at her. 

“Are you mad?”

After a moment, and a little hesitantly, she replied, “No. Well, a little. But—it is—a good picture. I think.” 

Ada smiled. “It is. And, you know, if you decide it makes you too uncomfortable, you can take it down. You can edit your profile and put up whatever photos you want.” 

She let Hecate look at the photo for a few more seconds, uncertain, intrigued, and just a little bit pleased. 

“Okay,” Ada said. “Do you want to see your messages?” 

“How do I have messages, again? I thought I had to like people’s photos?”

“Yeah. Initially I just put up your profile, but then when people started liking you, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to just, you know, open that pathway. Just in case. So I liked a few back. And—well.” 

Ada clicked on the message icon. There were ten messages there. Most just said, ‘Hey, what’s up?’ A few referenced her cat, or studies. And one was from Pippa. 

Ada had not, when she was first devising this plan, specifically set out to get Hecate to talk to the girl she’d been pining over for years. Initially, the goal had been to get her to talk to any girl at all, just to get her more comfortable with the whole idea of romance—and also to show her that in spite of what her anxiety told her, Hecate was in fact very attractive. But then Pippa had super-liked her profile, and all bets were off. If Ada didn’t mess it up, her meddling could be far more productive than she’d ever thought. 

“Ada—is that—” Hecate sounded equal parts amazed and terrified. 

Without a word, Ada clicked on the message. 

It read: _hi! you’re in my gender studies class, right? you have the most beautiful hair (not to sound creepy or anything, just sometimes i sit behind you and I can’t stop staring lol)_

“ _Goddess_ ,” Hecate breathed out, reverently. 

“She super-liked your profile,” Ada said. 

“Pippa. Likes my hair,” Hecate repeated. 

“And your muscles, I’d guess,” Ada said, trying her best not to smirk. 

They were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, arms and sides pressed together, and so Ada could feel the exact moment that Hecate’s astonishment turned to panic. She folded in on herself, scooting back until she was curled against the couch’s arm. 

“What? What is it?” Ada asked, putting a hand out to her. 

“I ruined it. Goddess, I must have ruined it. That’s why—she must have—but then—oh, _no_.”

“Slow down,” Ada demanded, turning to face her and pressing her hand against her leg to ground her. “What happened?”

Hecate took a breath, then released it. “Earlier this week. I dropped my books as I was leaving class, and Pippa—stopped to help me pick them up. And she said something to me, something like, ‘Do you always carry that many books,’ and she was smiling and standing so close to me, and I just—I ran. I panicked.” 

She was giving Ada a pleading look, and so Ada said, “It’s okay. That’s understandable. Then what?”

“Well, today in class, she—it seemed like she was trying not to look at me? And I thought that couldn’t be right, but it really—she wouldn’t even turn around. And then when she was leaving, we made eye contact, and it was like she was just looking through me. Like I wasn’t even there. And—” Hecate swallowed. “What if that’s why she’s angry at me? Because she messaged me and I didn’t respond, and I didn’t talk to her in class? Goddess, she must think—” 

“It was a miscommunication,” Ada said, as calmly as she could. “You didn’t know.”

“Yes, but—”

“Message her back and tell her you didn’t check the app. Or explain that your annoying roommate made the profile and you didn’t see it until just now. She’ll understand.” 

Ada could see the hope and anxiety battling in Hecate’s eyes.

“You think?” Hecate said quietly. 

“Yeah. I do. And tell her that you think her hair is beautiful, too.” Ada knew it might be pushing her luck, but she continued, “If you want, you could ask her out, too. It’s perfect because you’re in the same class, so you can just phrase it as a study thing. Low pressure. Just a chance for you to get to know each other better.” 

Hecate’s eyes were wide, but her breathing was steady. “Is that—” She stopped and cleared her throat, a flush rising over her cheeks. “On the one hand, that sounds—just on the bearable side of too much, but also—is that—” The flush deepened, and Ada could see her struggling to get the word out. “Romantic enough?” 

“Depends on where you do it,” Ada said calmly, as if her best friend wasn’t looking happier than she’d seen her in weeks—a quiet, cautious happy, but nevertheless—and as if she herself wasn’t jumping for joy inside. “You could have her over here, you could go to a café or the library…if it wasn’t chilly out I’d say you could have a picnic, but—” 

“Not here,” Hecate said. “I don’t know if I can have her here yet. It’s just—”

“Personal space,” Ada finished. “Yeah.”

“And the library’s—I don’t know.”

“Not enough privacy?” Ada offered.

“Something like that,” Hecate said slowly. “Maybe a café would be good.” 

“Are you going to text her? Now?” 

A moment. Then: quietly but decisively, Hecate said, “Yes. Now.” 

 

Pippa was lying on her bed, pretending to read a textbook while actually contemplating the contents of her closet, which she could see from her vantage point. She had a lot of pink clothing for everyday wear, and a lot of black for formal occasions, but not a lot in between. She could do with some nice blue and green dresses, for example. Or at least that would be a good excuse to go shopping. A new store had opened up, and she had a date on Friday. If she didn’t cancel it. 

Pippa sighed. It was unethical to date people that one didn’t actually particularly like, especially as a rebound. But it wasn’t that she didn’t like her, and she wasn’t technically on the rebound. She was just…settling. Which was something plenty of people did. But it was hardly flattering to the girl. And what would she say if a better prospect came along? They just weren’t a good match, that was all—a perfectly reasonable, and not untrue, thing to say. The difference was that she had known that from their first date. 

She buried her head in her textbook and groaned. 

“Pip, come get your phone. It keeps buzzing.” Julie’s voice came in through the door from the kitchen.

Pippa rolled off the bed, stumbled a few feet and pulled herself upright to open the door and head for the living room. She spotted her phone on the coffee table and grabbed it, collapsing into the armchair across from Julie. 

“Anything interesting?” Julie said, scribbling in her notebook, a textbook open on her knees. “You know I live vicariously through your popularity.” 

“Stop it,” Pippa said half-heartedly, scrolling through texts and notifications. After replying to a few messages, she began checking apps automatically: Snapchat, Insta, Tinder…

“Oh Goddess.” She sat up straight, a smile blossoming on her lips in spite of herself. “She messaged me back!”

“Who?”

“Hecate!”

In a second, Julie was next to her, sitting on the arm of the chair and peering down at her phone. They read Hecate’s message together:

_Hi. I’m sorry for the late response. It’s a long story, but my roommate made this account and didn’t show it to me until today. Would you want to study together sometime? Maybe at Cosy’s?_

And then, below:

_You have lovely hair, too._

“She asked me out. She actually asked me _out_.” Pippa was almost giddy with relief, a tension she hadn’t fully realized she was carrying dropping from her shoulders in an instant. 

“Are you going to respond?”

“Hold on,” Pippa said. She switched over to text and sent a quick note to the girl from that morning: _hey. i’m sorry for the confusion, but i think we’d be better as friends. let me know if you want to hang out platonically, i’m always down for face masks :)_

“Good,” Julie said. “You’re way too hot to be stringing anyone along.” 

“I know. Now—should I wait a few minutes, or—no. Nope.” 

_hey! no worries, thanks for letting me know! your roommate sounds like fun, i want to hear the whole story ;) i’d love to! what about saturday?_

“She must just be really shy,” Pippa said, the benefit of the doubt coming easily to her now that her fears had been assuaged. “When she dropped her books and then ran? I must have startled her.”

“You do tend to have that effect on people,” Julie deadpanned. 

Pippa hit her arm. “Maybe she was overwhelmed by my beauty.” 

A new message: _Saturday would work well. Four p.m.?_

_see you then!_ Pippa typed back. She stared down at their messages for a few moments, then leaned back in the chair, sighing happily. 

“Jules,” she said, eyes closed. 

“What?”

“Maybe I’ll get to touch her hair.”

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Maybe I’ll get to touch her _arms._ Do you think she kisses on the first date?”

 

“Are you excited?” Ada said, watching Hecate with amusement over their dining table.

Hecate was excited, to be sure. She was also petrified, and hopeful, and very, very happy, and filled with despair. There were so many ways for this to go wrong, and her brain was itching to explore every one of them in detail. How had Pippa even noticed her in the first place? They had never even spoken in the first place, and it wasn’t like she was anything remarkable, she just sat in the back of class and tried to be invisible. And yet—Pippa had seen her. She thought her hair was pretty. There was a chance—slim, even miniscule, but a chance nevertheless—that this could go well. If she didn’t trip over her feet and forget how to speak and generally make a fool of herself. It could go well. 

“Yes,” she said, for simplicity. 

“You’ll be fine,” Ada said, apparently sensing the things she hadn’t been able to say. 

“Yes.” 

“Try to forget about it, okay? Until Saturday. Don’t get stressed over it now. If Saturday morning comes and you don’t think you can do it, we’ll talk then. But for now, just put it out of your mind.”

Given her track record when it came to putting Pippa out of her mind—namely, that she wasn’t very good at it, and even when she managed to avoid consciously daydreaming about her, Pippa inevitably made an appearance in her dreams, all silky hair and long legs and soft lips—Hecate was not so sure about this plan. But: 

“I’ll try,” she said. 

Ada smiled.


End file.
